


May I have this dance?

by officialvampyr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, both are stupid and oblivious and in love, sword play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialvampyr/pseuds/officialvampyr
Summary: Sylvain figures the Garreg Mach ball is the perfect time for a love confession, but it'd be helpful if the person he intended to have his last dance with actually showed up. At least Felix is easy to track down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to 'shameless self indulgent fluff' brought to you by 'tired girl who never thought she'd publish fanfiction'. Hope you enjoy!

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Felix didn’t pause when the voice cut through the quiet of the training grounds. He continued to focus on the dummy across from him, side-stepping around it and cutting his blade through the air. As much as he preferred to be left alone on evenings like this, he figured someone was going to come looking for him eventually. After all, tonight was the night of the Garreg Mach ball. Everyone had been preparing for it for weeks and the event, while overhyped, was a roaring success for attendees. Personally, he found it a useless distraction. They had larger problems at hand, and a night of merriment sounded like a waste of time. It was his duty as a noble to attend, so he went for a few minutes. He shared in the drink, stayed far away from the dance floor, and socialized the proper amount for someone of his station before quietly dipping out. He didn’t have to stay, nor did he desire to.

His dress coat was draped over a chair not far away, along with the other adornments he had worn to the dance. Now he simply wore the most basic clothes; his undershirt, sweaty from exertion and clinging to his skin, his trousers, and his boots.

“Can’t you put your sword down for five minutes and enjoy something for once?”

That caused tension to build in his brow, the start of a migraine that usually accompanied him whenever Sylvain spoke. “Have you considered that I enjoy _this_?” There was a difference between enjoyment and duty, though, and Felix wasn’t sure if he knew where the line was anymore. Not that he would ever admit that. They were all addicted to their vices, stuck to their habits and unwilling to bend. “The day I take a break from training to enjoy a _ball_ will be the day you stop chasing skirts.” He couldn’t help the amusement that leaked into his tone, nor the way his lip curled up at the thought. Both of them knew the apocalypse would happen before either of those things would.

Sylvain snorted, finally moving from the doorway and onto the soft dirt of the training floor. He shifted into Felix’s line of vision—a stunning display in his all-black attire, the gold embroidery accented by the flickering torchlight—and effectively distracted him. His muscles froze mid-slash, catching the hint of a smirk, before he continued the motion. His sword tore through the dummy, sand dumping out of it. “That day might come sooner than you think,” Sylvain purred.

A humorless laugh escaped his lips as he lowered his sword just slightly and turned to face the redhead. What an ominous idea that had no basis in reality whatsoever. “What are you doing here anyway?” Felix nearly demanded, resting a hand on his hip. “Shouldn’t you be busy _galavanting_?”

“Who says I’m not now?” Sylvain replied smoothly, his voice like syrup.

_Damn him._ His words caused something low in Felix to fill with desire, something he constantly repressed but felt simmering nonetheless. He wanted to wipe that smirk off the man’s face, and as luck would have it, he might even have the chance to do so; Sylvain took a step closer and Felix’s grip on his sword grew tighter.

“I was saving a dance for you,” Sylvain commented, sounding neither remorseful or hopeful. It was just a plain comment.

This caught him by surprise. While they had flirted around the concept of something happening between them multiple times—near kisses after battles, gentle touches under the table, sharing a tent on missions—nothing had ever come of it. There were many reasons for it, he supposed. Two male nobles could not carry on their family crests if they were too busy involved in each other. Sylvain was too focused on being a playboy, too immature and ignorant towards other people’s needs and wants, to be in an _actual _relationship. On top of all of this, it would have been dangerous to dance together in public like that. “I’ve seen you with a sword, Gautier. You have two left feet.”

Sylvain laughed, then gave an elegant bow. “Let me prove you otherwise,” he said, eyes glimmering.

Felix stepped towards him, keeping enough distance between them that he was able to tilt his blade, just slightly, so that it rested under Sylvain’s chin. The man startled slightly, eyes going wide for a moment, but he quickly regained composure. That easy smile was back on his face, completely nonplussed about his current predicament. Felix felt more heat as a result, heart fluttering in his chest. He tried not to mimic the grin, forced himself to remain neutral. The only dance Felix knew how to perform was the intricate one of swordsmanship; the complicated footwork, the rapidly changing tempos, the give and take as they switched from leader to follower over and over. “You know how to get me to dance,” Felix replied, nodding innocently toward the rack of weaponry off to the side.

He tilted Sylvain’s chin up a little higher, so their eyes were fixed on each other. Sylvain’s gaze was filled with mirth. Felix finally removed the sharp tip of the blade from his companion’s skin. “Would it kill you to be romantic?” Sylvain sighed, righting himself and moving to collect a sword.

“Who’s wooing who here?” Felix retorted, hiding his grin by turning his back, pretending to examine his sword, as if touching the other man had tarnished it somehow. He heard the slip of fabric and the tinkle of jewelry as Sylvain stripped himself of his niceties, tossing his coat carelessly on the rack of weapons.

Heavy footsteps behind him, and Felix turned in time to block a blow that Sylvain had aimed at him. “That’s a dirty trick,” he commented wryly, shoving against the redhead to knock him back. It only resulted in Sylvain taking one step backwards—what the man lacked in skill he made up for with brute force and size—but it was enough to give him an advantage. He shifted from defensive to offensive, his weapon quickly slicing through the air in a flurry fo blows. Sylvain blocked each one. They were both forces to be reckoned with on the battlefield; this Felix knew for a fact.

Sylvain found his moment to return some blows, their chaotic dance growing even moreso as they both came at each other. They parried, slashed, danced. They continued until they were breathless and slick with sweat. They continued until, by some horrible chance of fate, Sylvain knocked the sword from Felix’s hands. They both took a moment to gawk at each other before Felix _lunged _for him, a last desperate attempt to win their spar that resulted in both of them getting knocked over, Felix on top of Sylvain, and Sylvain pressed into the dirt. “Now _that’s_ a dirty trick,” Sylvain chuckled in response, breath strained.

“Do you yield?” Felix asked.

Felix caught the hint of a smirk right before the world was upturned, Sylvain smoothly hooking a leg over Felix’s hip and rolling them over. He pinned the smaller man down much more effectively, heavy on his hips, wrists pinned above his head. “Never,” he purred. “You know, if you wanted me hot and sweaty and on top of you, there’s a much better way we could have done this…”

Were he any bolder, this might be the ideal time to kiss him. His gaze flickered down to Sylvain’s lips, fixating there for a moment. This did not escape the man’s notice. Felix could feel the other lowering slightly, just inches away… The grip on his wrists was loose, and he tore out an arm quick enough to shove Sylvain back and off of him. “Get off me, Gautier,” he snapped. He felt wound like a coil, hot and ready to burst.

Ever respectful, Sylvain backed off. He put his hands up in surrender before getting to his feet and offering Felix a hand.

He was tempted to knock it away in his usual petulant manner, but instead, he took it, and let Sylvain hoist him to his feet. He dusted the dirt off his trousers, straightened his shirt. He wandered towards the He wandered towards where he had left his coat and the sheath for his sword, taking a moment or so to fixate everything to his person before nodding to his companion. “Let’s go. It’s getting late.”

Sylvain, ever the eager puppy, positively perked up at the command. “Where are we going?” He was already assembled, barely looking as though they’d tousled on the ground. His already messy hair was partly askew, but no one would notice such a minor detail (save Felix, apparently).

“You’ll see.”

He wanted romantic, didn’t he?

Then goddamn, Felix would show him some romance.

They found themselves on the rooftop of Garreg Mach. The sounds of the party were still lively, music drifting slowly through the many hallways and courtyards of the monastery. It was chilly up there, with the breeze tearing sharply through their clothes. It was one of Felix’s favorite spots to be alone. Few people wandered this far up, and fewer people knew how to find the spiral staircase to the roof anyway. At night, it was the best place to stargaze. Sometimes, he would count the hours by the slow flickering lights of monastery as torches were put out.

And now here he was with Sylvain, who was still perplexed by the situation, that one brain cell of his rapidly trying to catch up with the events that had transpired. Felix could almost hear his thoughts. _Felix? Alone? _

“You’re not going to shove me off the roof of the monastery, are you?” Sylvain asked coyly, bringing a smile to Felix’s lips.

“When I could have slit your throat in a much more satisfying act of murder? Not a chance.” Felix gestured for him to sit as he lowered himself onto the edge of the roof. Sylvain hesitated for a moment before following. _Always the careless follower_. Silence fell between them. They sat a few inches apart, their hands nearly touching between them.

“Pretty view,” Sylvain commented.

Felix rolled his eyes. _He can never stay quiet for long_. He turned slightly to look where the nobleman was looking, but found himself staring back at his face. _Ah. He was talking about me_. “You’re a sap,” he said, looking away. That kind of banter wasn’t right. He should have called him an idiot.

He looked up when he felt a pinky slowly inching for his own. Sylvain was looking at him still, eyes bright in the moonlight. “What do you want, Sylvain?” he asked, no malice in his voice.

“I think you know already.” When he didn’t pull his hand away, Sylvain’s moved more earnestly. Felix lifted his hand just enough to grant the man the permission he was seeking. His touch was surprisingly warm despite the chill in the evening air.

“Say it,” Felix demanded anyway, growing a little terse. _You have no problem being upfront with every other person in this goddamn academy, but not me?_

“I want you, Felix,” he said.

Yes, that was what he had wanted to hear, but it sounded so _ridiculous _coming from his lips. Sylvain Jose Gautier, renowned playboy, wanted _him_. It was _ludicrous_. In fact, Felix had to stifle a laugh. “_Why_?”

To his ever growing amusement, Sylvain seemed confused. “Why?” he mirrored, brow furrowing.

“We’re always at each other’s throats and you’ve never shown interest in anyone beyond the bedroom.”

“Maybe I’m looking for something different.”

“Something?”

“Someone.” He squeezed his hand.

Felix still couldn’t comprehend why.

“What do you want, Fe?” Sylvain asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

He considered it for a moment. He wanted many things, of course, but above all he wanted a world where they could be a possibility. Tensions were heating up around the monastery, and Felix couldn’t shake the feeling that they were going to be in over their heads soon enough. There was a darkness approaching. It would be smart to keep his alliances as close as possible, desperately clinging to whatever he could. He thought back to when they were children, to the numerous promises they’d made to each other. Whatever the circumstances, they were bound to one another.

It was no question that he wanted Sylvain, but he still found himself reluctant to answer. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the shift in the nature of their relationship. Once they made this step, there was no going back—and that terrified him. Felix didn’t know how to be vulnerable anymore.

All this… he knew he could mull over later.

He met Sylvain’s gaze, his own expression soft. “I want you to kiss me.”

And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, Sylvain is hellbent on getting that dance.
> 
> Or: A cute little epilogue :)

“For the last time, I don’t dance.”

Sylvain had managed to corner him in an empty room. It once might have been a meeting room somewhere on the third floor of the palace, but it had been refurbished due to the noble’s design. Amazing how Sylvain could take a place that wasn't his and alter it in any way he wanted to. Not that he supposed the prince cared what they were getting up to, considering he was still busy with his alliances and rebuilding and his own love to care for. There were worse things they could be doing than redecorating. In this room, all the furniture was pushed to the edges, leaving the center area clear. Even the rug had been rolled up and pushed to the side. There was a warm fire flickering in the hearth, candles dancing in corners of the room. It all felt very… romantic. The affect was amplified by the music softly playing in the room, a soft lilting harmony echoing from a phonograph. He half expected a romantic picnic, but he knew that wouldn't be the case.

The man in question was behind him, hastily closing the door and blocking the exit before Felix could evacuate (as if he really thought he could stop him if he wanted to). “Oh come on. It’s the king’s coronation ceremony in three days, where you’ll be expected to participate in the festivities, which _includes _dancing.” He pressed, gesturing emphatically at Felix.

The shorter noble crossed his arms, looking petulant. “Since when do I give a rats ass about _his _expectations of me?” he snapped. There was not a goddamn thing he did solely for Dimitri’s benefit, including dressing up like a monkey and dancing in his court. He was a knight, not a pomp. Even if they were on better terms since the end of the war, their relationship was still strained. Sometimes it felt as though their relationship ended on the battlefield or at the training grounds, and neither was sure how to fix it from there.

Sylvain was not dissuaded from his task. He swept closer, took Felix’s hands in his and lead him to the center of the room. “You’re not doing it for him,” he agreed. “You’re doing it for me. You’re going to dance with _me_, your _lover_, remember?”

“No, I have completely forgotten who you are,” he replied wryly, smirk tugging at his lips. He took the opportunity to weave their fingers together. He did like to pretend to be blissfully ignorant of his lover's antics, especially because it annoyed Sylvain to even _entertain _the idea that they hadn't been mercilessly in love with each other for nearly five years. Now _merciless _might be a strange word to use in this context, but it was the truth; it was an unyielding, fierce, unbreakable love that kept them together. The kind of love that left no survivors, at the end of the day.

Felix's comment was ignored, and Sylvain followed with a breezy, “Besides, it’ll be good practice for when we dance at our wedding.”

The words came and went before either of them could recognize what they meant. There was a beat of a moment, the words hanging heavy in the air, as they both came to the realization of what Sylvain had said. There was a sharp blush etching across his cheeks, eyes wide with surprise. He clearly hadn't been meaning to say that. Felix felt his mouth go slightly agape. “I’m sorry, our what?” he asked, raising a brow. That smirk was slowly turning into a grin. Goddamn Sylvain. Felix could almost remember a time when he had his emotions completely under wraps around the fool, but it was nearly impossible now. His heart somersaulted in his chest.

Panic was heavy in the air. Felix could practically see the gears turning in Sylvain’s head—although perhaps that was an overestimation of his mental faculties, it was more like Felix could see Sylvain’s one brain cell struggling to keep up. “Uh—” Oh, this panic was delicious. “—I mean… since the war is over… I thought maybe—”

Oh no. Felix was not going to let Sylvain propose like this, right now. He surged forward, planting a heavy kiss on his lips. Sylvain had always been an idealist, whereas Felix had not. Truthfully, he had never imagined a future where they would have an outcome like this; with Dimitri on the throne, with the two of them… well. Sometimes it was hard to imagine they would have ended up together, let alone survived the war. Tying the knot seemed like an ideal that was too far fetched. What would a Gautier and Fraldarius unification look like anyway?

Since the war had ended, Felix was sure that there was no way they were going to separate from one another, but… marriage? It was simultaneously beautiful and sickening. He could practically see Sylvain parading him around, the happiest of lords, _glowing _with love and affection… 

Sylvain was fit for marriage, but Felix had never pictured him in that life. Honestly, he'd been considering taking up a sword and resorting to a mercenary lifestyle. He was still itching for his sword, even though the war had ended. He spent much of his time aiding the army to break up skirmishes and quell uprisings. But marriage? Settling down? He thought of every morning they had spent curled around each other, Sylvain's arm protectively around his waist. He thought of every evening they spent by the fire, sharing drink and laughter. Gods, the laughter. Felix couldn't remember a time when he felt so light. Even now, holding his hand in an empty room of the palace, he knew this was where he belonged; right at Sylvain's side. 

Shit. He was going to have to marry Sylvain wasn’t he?

There were worse fates, he supposed.

They broke the kiss, Felix smiling up at him. “I will consent to your dancing.” Sylvain's hand was already snaking its way to his hip, a hum on his lips. "But if you step on my toe I will murder you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey megan when are you going to stop writing about them getting married and being sweet n sappy together? 
> 
> answer: never


End file.
